The Dominafuhrer - MISS SPITEFUL'S GOLD

Episode 25 - The Checkpoint Chorus

September 1952

Kelly shifted the gear stick, depressed the pedals and our limousine moved forward with the other vehicles in the queue. When she raised her knees, the pleated hem of her gymslip fell back, exposing her thighs and the long black suspenders clipped to the welts of her shiny black stockings.

I was sitting beside her on the front seat and our journey from the hotel to the vehicle crossing point had been in silence, although we had both kept glancing across at each other. When our eyes happened to meet, we had both quickly looked away. There was nothing to say between us.

We had now drawn level with the big notice board advising us; in four languages that we were leaving the British sector of Berlin and about to enter that controlled by the Russians.

"I cannot believe that Sugar could not find any other costumes than these," Miss Spiteful continued to complain from the back seat. “Men pay a lot of money for me to dress like this and now the whole of Berlin gets to see me for free."

Dressed like us all in the schoolgirls outfit, and looking absolutely stunning, she drummed her fingers in anger and frustration as she scowled out of the side window. Solitaire, sitting opposite to her, was holding her hand to her mouth to suppress her giggles, while Sapphire and Stiletto were trying to keep straight faces and find something interesting to stare at through the windows on their side. This time, when Kelly's and my eyes met, we smiled at each other and, for a moment, the frostiness thawed. 

Kelly shifted the chewing gum in her jaws and turned to look back over her shoulder.

"If you had given her time to explain, Mistress, Sugar said that these were the only costumes that she could get six of in all of our sizes in the short time that you gave her. The costumier had these in stock because a touring company of 'The Mikado' had cancelled their order. The alternatives were American barbershop singers with striped blazers and big black moustaches, Nuns or traditional Welsh costumes with red petticoats, shawls and black stovepipe hats."

There was a collective shudder from as all Kelly turned back quickly to move our limousine forward again. After she had applied the brake, she put her head out the side window and advised us that there were only a couple of cars left in front.

"Bibi and I disguised ourselves as nuns when we were trying to get into Switzerland," Sapphire suddenly announced. "When our car got to the border, we changed into our habits but the Americans had closed the crossing points and we had to go across country carrying our cases. Poor Bibi was exhausted climbing the hills and I made her sing to keep her spirits up. I've often thought what a good story that would make for a film. You know, singing nuns escaping into Switzerland."

We all shook our heads as Miss Spiteful voiced our thoughts.

"Honestly Sapphire, sometimes you do come out with the most childish drivel! No one would pay to watch nonsense like that"    

"Careful, we're there!" Kelly called out before Sapphire could respond. She halted the car alongside an East German border guard with a sub machine gun on a sling over his shoulder and a big torch in his hand.

"Ausweis! Papiers! Passports!" he barked as he pointed the beam of the torch on the face of each of us in turn. Suddenly he stopped and his eyes widened as he realised how we were dressed and his hand shook as he illuminated Miss Spiteful's knees.

She gave him one of her sweet smiles and crossed her long, black nyloned legs; giving him a flash of stocking top, suspender and bare white thigh. His eyes, and probably his trousers as well, bulged and he gulped as he took the six passports and festival tickets that Kelly offered him. He stood up, looked through the documents, with their assorted nationalities and indicated that Kelly should pull over and park the limousine in front of the low wooden hut behind him.

"Raus! Bitte." He croaked, waving the barrel of the sub machine gun from us to the open door of the hut.

We filed inside, followed by the guard who handed our papers to an officer seated behind a table. The hut was already crowded with other travellers; many of whom seemed to be heading for the festival as some were in traditional costumes or carried musical instruments. They were also being questioned at tables and watched by armed guards stationed around the walls.

Silence fell and every eye was turned to us when we lined up in our gymslips and straw boaters.

"I really will kill Sugar for this," Miss Spiteful muttered as the officer examined our passports and tickets. He put them down and gave us a long sceptical look before speaking in passable English.

"You claim to be the Cheltenham College International Old Girls Folk Song Society. Why do you come from so many countries if the school is in England?"

"Our common interest in song was a good reason for keeping in touch after we left school," Sapphire replied. "There are many members in branches of the society world-wide and we were selected as the representatives to attend this festival and extend the hand of friendship to other nations through song."

Our interrogator was not convinced by this speech.

"You claim to be singers, so sing!" He commanded.

This was one problem that Miss Spiteful had not foreseen and we stared back at him, dumbstruck.

"I want you to perform one of your songs," he reiterated.

It was Kelly who stepped forward and saved the day.

"Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?” She trilled and nudged me in the ribs with her elbow to join in as she repeated the first line. As we started on "Sonnez les matines", Stiletto and Solitaire began with "Frere Jacques." Kelly and I were on "Ding, ding, dong" when Miss Spiteful and Sapphire's tuneless efforts commenced and we immediately reprised the first line to cover up their voices. 

Further down the hut someone else joined in and Kelly waved her arms to encourage more participants. I even heard a guitar above the noise of the singing and the guards bellowing "Stille!"

When the final "dong" faded away, the officer took his hands off his ears and muttered, "Genug! Enough!"

He stamped our passports and then, checking each photograph, called us forward by name so that he could hand them back to us individually.

"Fraulein O'Hara from the United States; Fraulein Zimmerman from Switzerland; Frau Frascetti from Argentina; Frau Pieters from South Africa; Frau McNair from Great Britain and Fraulein Downham from Canada."

As he handed Kelly the tickets, he gave a thin smile. "I was thinking of going to Festival when I came off duty but now I think that I shall go straight home."

We all laughed as we turned away but I suddenly felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I looked back and my eyes met the cold stare of a sandy bearded, ferret-faced man in a leather jacket who was standing behind the officer. He was definitely not amused. I could still feel a cold chill in my spine as we leaped back into our limousine. The barrier was raised and Kelly had started driving into East Berlin before we were all seated and had closed the doors.

To continue this story, click By The Light Of The German Democratic People's Silvery Moon

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